


Astronomy

by orphan_account



Category: Saints Row
Genre: F/M, Female Character of Color
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 20:04:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1870638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes caring for the Boss is comparable to staring at the sun: difficult, painful, and not at all worth the effort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Astronomy

Sometimes caring for the Boss is comparable to staring at the sun: difficult, painful, and not at _all_ worth the effort.

That doesn't mean nobody _puts_ in the effort. They do. Each and every one of them. Shaundi cares when she thinks nobody's looking. Gat cares in his own way, subtle and subdued but clear as day to anyone who looks. Pierce is blatant about it, fierce in his protective friendship. King and Kinzie and Keith David, even Asha's warming up, despite her best efforts.

And Matt. Despite wounded pride and earlier mistrust, and that whole _attempted murder_ debacle, he's finding himself caught, drawn in by the Boss and that unique _fire_ she has. She's _undoubtedly_ a sociopath, of course, but more than just that. Before, Matt might have wondered what it was about her that made so many people follow her. When she took up the position of _unquestioned leader of the Saints_ she really took it up- questioning her wasn't just foolish, it was usually suicidal.

But beyond that, nobody really _wanted_ to, or none of her Saints. Matt had to bite his tongue to refrain (and admittedly he did slip the once, when they were going after Gat, but he hadn't made the same mistake since, and if he's honest, well, she hasn't really given him a reason to).

He never forgets that there's blood on her hands- literal blood, and a lot of it, more than on the hands of anyone he's ever known, he thinks, more than _everyone_ he's ever known. He never forgets that she's murdered her way to a _lot_ of what she has. He never forgets that she drives against traffic for fun, and robbed the military for the thrill and for bombs, and that nobody, nobody, nobody can seem to truly _keep up with her._

Still, despite the mad gleam in her eyes when promised a chance to set things on fire, there's just something about the Boss that's almost irresistible. Matt knows- he _knows_ \- she could kill him without a second thought if she really wanted to but he also knows she _doesn't_ want to. First it was because he was useful, then it was because she remembered he's one of the very, very few human beings left alive after the Earth's destruction, and now it's because she's getting attached.

 _Attached_ , that's the word she used when she told him about it, slumped over in a chair, holding a magazine by the two top corners and kicking her feet in the air. _Attached_ , like he's something she regrets keeping around. As if she's not just as attached to Gat- and she is, and she doesn't treat _that_ like a bad thing.

Then she looks up at him over the top of that magazine, dark eyes gleaming with what could almost be described as mischievousness (and Matt thinks, maybe, he _gets_ where that whole 'Puckish rogue' schtick comes from).

“I'm going to go... do something fun. Break Zinyak's toys, Johnny told me where some patrols and shit are. Want to help me, or are you too busy?”

And Matt plays reluctant. A little sigh, a huff as he sets aside his work, but they both know he'd never say no to her.

And when they return, triumphant as ever (because could they be anything but triumphant so long as she has a gun in her hands, honestly?), she's laughing and clutching her sides as she drags him down to the lower deck, mimicking the way one of _those fucking aliens_ fell over and killed _himself, can you believe it? That fall shouldn't have killed anybody! I'm almost disappointed I didn't get to fucking shoot him again!_ and her arm is around his shoulder, partly to support herself as she laughs manically and partly to make sure he sticks with her.

And she's flopping down on the sofa in the cargo bay- which she so often calls _his_ cargo bay and _admittedly_ he's really the only one who goes down there on a regular basis but he only lives there because it's where he's most useful, she knows that, he's told her and-

And then she's dragging him with her, grabbing him by the collar and yanking until his face is close enough to hers that she can press red-glossed lips against his, eyes flashing and he cups her cheek almost delicately and for a split second he worries she'll laugh at him for it, but she doesn't, she leans into his touch and he takes that as permission, fingertips brushing over her face, drifting across bronze skin, a strong nose, purple-dusted eyelids (and did her eyeshadow look like a mess on purpose, or was she just bad at applying it, he wondered briefly before she spoke up again and his train of thought fled the station).

“I'm growing so attached to you, mon cher.”

 _Attached,_ that's the word she uses. _Attached_ like he's something she's afraid to lose.

Not that the boss is afraid of anything. Not really, or not as far as Matt can tell anyway. But still, the sentiment means a lot despite that. Or maybe it means a lot because of that. The woman who started with damn near _nothing_ and became President of the United States after saving it from Temple, the woman who stared down an alien warlord with nothing but defiance and bravado, the woman whose response to the death of her planet was _that son of a bitch will pay for this_. That woman is, might be, scared of losing him.

And in all honesty, he doesn't know _what_ to think of that.

But it's something to think about later. For the moment, she's nibbling up his jaw and really, responding to that is a much better use of his time than thinking too hard about this.

Yeah, sure, sometimes caring for the Boss is like staring at the sun: warm, bright, and probably worth bragging rights somewhere if anyone can keep it up for more than six seconds.

But maybe, _maybe_ it's worth the effort.


End file.
